


Insomnia

by blakesparkles



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A couple of scenes are inspired by Fight Club and Reservoir Dogs, Alternate Universe, Angst, Beating, Blood, Character Death, Doppelganger, Emotional Manipulation, Gore, Horror, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Murder, Mystery, Police, Psychopath, Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, at least an attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10939074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakesparkles/pseuds/blakesparkles
Summary: Mark is breathless, thin sprinkles of blood still on his skin. The green-haired man wants to ask why he stopped.They weren’t suppose to stop.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Anti/Dark story and I wanted to test a little bit how I'd work with their dynamic. This is short and new, so I hope everything comes across alright. Anything let me know. Also, I recommend you to listen to this [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRf5zdWN4S0&list=PL6XgzmiBk09GcPxlam11C8IdAo02DNE4i&index=1) while reading it. Enjoy ♥  
> 

The green-haired man stares at the dashboard, the outside world is a blur and he holds back a sigh.

 

Mark is driving at a very high speed and he looks insane. He wasn’t expecting the brunet to take him to the car and just run away after what happened. The Irishman assumes Mark is not thinking properly right now. He’s in shock, mind not fully processing what he just saw. The green-haired man purses his lips, knowing that what Mark’s doing is extremely stupid. The brunet should’ve left him there in the room. Mark should’ve run and escaped alone.

 

The brunet suddenly hits the break with full strength. The wheels leave marks and noises behind, rubber burning down the road. They lean forward when the car stops because of the speed and the seatbelt tightens around the Irishman’s chest. Mark is breathless, thin sprinkles of blood still on his skin. The green-haired man wants to ask why he stopped. They weren’t suppose to stop. But Mark leaves the car before he can open his mouth and the brunet paces back and forth in the street.

 

The Irishman takes the car keys. The headlights remain on.

 

“The _fuck_ happened there?! What is wrong with you?!” The brunet shouts in the middle of the night. “It’s you and me, goddamnit! We’re _partners_ , Jack!” Mark screams, gripping his hair with both hands. He is no expert with feelings, but he can tell that the man’s heart is beating like a drum right now.

 

“We were never partners, Mark.” ░░░ watches the tan man suck in air, taking a few steps back. His breath forms clouds in mid-air due the cold. Everything in him screams indignation, confusion and despair. “Jack is not here,” the green-haired man adds in a deadpan voice. His emotionless eyes gaze at Mark, observing every movement he makes. He holds back another sigh, knowing he has no other choice and that his true nature will always come back to haunt him no matter what.

 

“The hell you mean by that?!” Mark shouts again as if he’s physically in pain, his voice cracking mid sentence.

 

The latter remains with a blank expression, not blinking.

 

“It is not my name.”

 

They’re in front of the vehicle and the headlights cast over them, creating shadows on the other side. Mark’s eyes widen. The green-haired man tilts his head, deciding to show a trace of curiosity so the brunet can follow his train of thought. For a moment, he wishes he could save this image of Mark in despair. The essence of humanity displayed in the open. Poetic.

 

“Jack is not here. Jack was _never_ here. Jack was not real.”

 

Mark closes his eyes, resting one hand over his stomach as if trying to keep himself together. “What is your name, then?” He whispers.

 

“I am afraid I cannot tell you.”

 

“I doubt that you can feel afraid…” Mark murmurs under his breath.

 

The Irishman continues to stare. “You are not wrong in doubting.”

 

Mark sucks for air once more, burying his face in his hands. It smudges the blood off his face and ░░░ feels a little disappointed at that. It was fine just the way it was. Pity. He takes a step forward, calling Mark’s attention. His doe eyes flash towards the green-haired man.

 

“I need to make sure you will not tell them about what happened.”

 

“ _Them_?”

 

“The police. I do not want to deal with them again. It is, what you call, a rock in my shoe,” the Irishman replies and he can feel his knife handle resting against his back. The sharp blade warm due his body temperature. ░░░ tilts his head again. “I need to make sure you will stay silent.”

 

“I-I don’t understand… I don’t understand any of this…” Mark says more to himself. “Ja-”

 

“I am _not_ him.”

 

There is brief silence and the green-haired man grinds his teeth in annoyance. The fact that Mark keeps calling him by that name makes his anger slip through his calm stance. It crawls under his skin, begging to be free. Mark looks down at the pavement, gathering his mind from the ground. The Irishman’s hand twitches, losing patience and feeling the weight of the knife growing against his back. The brunet shakes his head, knitting his eyebrows.

 

“Was anything real, then? What we had...”

 

“No,” ░░░ replies in a heartbeat.

 

Mark lets out a broken sound, looking devastated. His glassy eyes still gazing down. He looks pathetic. The green-haired man reaches for his back, raising his long-sleeved black shirt just enough to grab the handle. He takes the knife in a graceful manner, never taking his unblinking eyes off of the man. “I am going to make sure you are quiet now,” he says calmly, while the latter gasps and panics all over again. People are incredibly boring. “I didn’t want to do this here. But since you stopped the car, I will take what I have. Now, do you want to run?”

 

“What?”

 

“I am giving you an option. Hunting is quite _entertaining_ to me.” He tilts his head again. “Do you want to run or not?”

 

Another pause.

 

He tightens his grip on his favorite knife, his heart pacing slow and steady. Mark looks around, as if searching for something. He stares at the car and ░░░ knows he’s calculating how to get there and drive away before anything happens to him. Mark swallows, hugging himself again and it looks like he’s going to vomit. But there’s a shaky whisper between them that makes the Irishman hum, a way to show his excitement.

 

“R-Run…” he confirms.

 

“Let’s start, then.” ░░░ grins for the first time.

 

Mark slowly walks backwards to the car, as if not sure ░░░ will actually do something. Like this is not happening. The brunet fidgets with the doorknob and after a few attempts, he can see in Mark’s eyes the panic of finding out that the key is not there. That he cannot get out the easy way. The Irishman starts whistling, walking peacefully while playing with his knife. Mark tries to break the window, but when the green-haired man starts getting closer and closer, he sprints towards the east.

 

░░░ stops singing and starts going after Mark, his feet raising dust behind him. The tall grass moves with them and all he can hear is the brunet’s sharp breaths in the night. His own breathing is even. He jumps when small obstacles are in the way and he never loses sight of the man. Mark looks back a couple of times and it doesn’t take too long for them to reach a farm. The green-haired man watches Mark enter the corn crop and he stops in front of it. ░░░ walks in very slowly, barely moving the corn leaves around him. His footsteps are light and he focuses on his hearing.

 

He whistles every now and then, revealing his position on purpose, just for fun. He hears a sharp breath that is not so distant from his right. ░░░ turns his head to look around. He sees a faint motion under the moonlight, so he quietly watches where he steps to get closer. There’s a figure crouched on the ground and he can tell Mark is covering his own mouth to muffle his breathing. The Irishman raises his knife and he whistles. Mark gasps, turning over to look up and see him. He sinks the weapon into Mark’s shoulders, pleased to hear him scream in pain. He stabs him again, this time on his leg, missing deadly spots on purpose. Blood splashes on his face a couple of times and when he stops, Mark pushes the green-haired man and limply runs inside the red barn.

 

He follows the trace of blood, his heart never skipping a beat. The knife’s dripping blood and ░░░ walks inside, only to find the brunet desperately looking for some sort of weapon. He’s crying and choking on his own saliva, one hand on his shoulder while the other drops materials everywhere. The Irishman aims quickly with his weapon when Mark spots a shotgun at the end of the barn and throws his knife at him. Mark’s shout echoes in the wooden structure and he falls to the ground, hay getting on his clothes. He stares at the knife sunk deep in his thigh, not sure if he should pull it out or not.

 

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” ░░░ says.

 

Mark groans, panting heavily. His hands hover around the knife handle, but he doesn’t take it out. Good boy. Instead, he pitifully crawls towards the gun when ░░░ begins to cut the distance between them.

 

“Goddamnit, Jack! You fucking asshole!” He shouts in pain, his voice hoarse from the screams.

 

“I already told you that Jack is not here.” He stops just a few steps away when Mark suddenly gets up faster than before and grabs the shotgun, hitting the ground once more. He aims right at the Irishman’s chest, his body bent in a funny way because of the knife in his leg. “You will regret doing that.”

 

“You _fucking_ lying bastard! How _fucked_ _up_ are you to do something like that?!” Mark screams, gun shaking because of his panicked state. ░░░ takes one step forward, the brunet aiming higher. “Don’t you fucking dare take one more step! I don’t want to do this. I don’t w-want to kill you, Jack… God… Our friends… A-All of them…You b-blew off Bob’s head in front me….” He sobs, face scrunching in indignation. “W-Why did you kill them?” He whispers. “W-why…?”

 

The green-haired man tilts his head, fascinated at the man’s despair.

 

“Confidential,” it’s all he says, just to tease the man a bit.

 

A clicking sound echoes in the barn and ░░░ purses his lips, realizing Mark pulled the trigger but there are no bullets in the gun. Mark’s eyes widen even more and his breathing breaks a couple of times. Sweat drips from his forehead and the Irishman makes a disapproving sound, shaking his head.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

 

The brunet shouts when ░░░ jumps on top of him, pushing the gun out of his hands and punching his face. That beautiful face. Imagines of them kissing burn the Irishman’s eyelids and he shakes his head, ignoring it. He punches Mark again, blood splashing out of his mouth. His smile between a kiss and his hands caressing the green-haired man’s back flashes in his mind. ░░░ grunts and screams, telling him to stop doing that. He wraps his cold hands around Mark’s neck and starts strangling him. The same lips that once kissed him are now covered in blood and this doesn’t feel fun anymore.

 

“J-Jack…” the brunet chokes and the green-haired man frowns down at him, really wishing he could stop calling him by that name. More flashbacks invade his mind and it infuriates him. It makes him want to curl in a ball and just vomit everything he has inside him, even though he’s just an empty void. Mark squirms under him, face red. “D-Don’t… Don’t d-do this…”

 

“Shut up!” ░░░ screams. “Shut the fuck up!” He takes out the knife from Mark’s thigh and the latter screams with him. Their shouts echo in the barn and the green-haired man sinks the knife on Mark’s chest. Over and over. Over and over. O͇̟̥͎ͅv̞̳̘̫ḛ̴̬̖̫̯̜̲r ͡a̼̺̘͔͍̰̱͢ṋ͙̮̕d̺͉̲̬̲ ͉ǫ͎v̶̭͕e͎̕ͅr͉͘.͎̘̹͖̩̮͚͠

 

There’s blood streaming down his neck and everything is just pure red in front of him. He continues to stab the brunet, even though there’s no longer life coming out of those hazel eyes. Those warm orbs that once smiled at him with no fear. ░░░ screams louder, his own voice cracking in the hours of darkness and he finally drops the weapon down. He blinks several times, realizing his heart lost its pace and his chest hurts. The Irishman glares at the dead person, wanting to burn him with his eyes. Burn.

 

_Burn._

 

░░░ looks around, getting up with oddly weak legs and he grabs the gasoline from a small tractor. He fumbles with the materials of the barn, cursing when it takes longer than he wants to find a lighter. He pours the gasoline over Mark’s body and around the hay. The lighter flickers a couple of times before it works, the fire glowing in the dark.

 

He grabs his knife, replacing it in the back of his belt once more and he lets the lighter hit the floor. Fire spreads in the barn, casting an ominous light over his face. The flames surround Mark’s body, consuming him. Devouring him in a way ░░░ would like to. He walks away when it starts losing control and he watches the barn fall from the outside. The ceiling creaks and it falls into the hellfire and he turns around, walking back to the car.

 

He takes the key out of his pocket to get inside the car and he leaves the place, driving away with unblinking eyes towards the road. He ignores the small emptiness that gnaws his body, shaking his shoulders to recompose himself. ░░░ drives back to the city, knowing his new destination. Tall buildings surround him instead of the cornfield and he can no longer feel that void.

 

The green-haired man walks inside a hotel, not giving a fuck about the woman at the counter, and he goes towards the elevator immediately. No one cares that he’s covered in blood. They’re paid to ignore. He presses the number that is burned behind his eyelids just like Mark’s lifeless eyes. The light of the elevator turns on with a beeping sound and he arrives on the seventh floor.

 

Knocking on the 704th door, he hears static noises and a deep familiar voice reaches his ears.

 

“Who is it?”

 

“Let me in,” he says instead.

 

After a beat of silence, the door opens and that same face stares back at him. He glares at the man, somehow hating that these hazel eyes share no warmth. There’s only coldness in them. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He passes by him and sighs when the man opens his mouth.

 

“How is the lovely detective doing?” he says while closing the door, going back to his velvet chair. His suit is clean and not a single strand of hair is out of place. He also has an obnoxious smirk printed on his face that ░░░ wants to rip off. He wants to skin him alive.

 

“Dead.”

 

“Aw, already? Is play-time as a cop over?”

 

░░░ frowns at the goddamn television with only static coming out of it and he walks to the bathroom, washing the blood from his face with cold water. He places the knife on the bathroom sink. The water turns pink when he washes his hands and he can’t help but scowl when that void corrupts him again. It’s a wrong feeling. He hates it. He wants it to stop.

 

It disgusts him to stare at his reflection. The scar on his neck itches and he scratches it, watching the skin turn bright pink. He imagines the wound opening again and the red liquid falling over his body like a blanket. The green-haired man rests his hand over the scar. He remembers when the man in the other room did this to him and how he’d poke at the fresh stitches, just to annoy him.

 

“They were onto me. I had to,” ░░░ says while laying down on the couch, next to the man in the suit. “Are you happy now?”

 

He remembers more about the man cutting his throat wide open while they were in bed. He can still taste the blood in his mouth, choking him. The man grinning, looking down at him and holding his favorite knife. The same knife he used on Mark. ░░░ remembers how calm the man was while he squirmed in bed, desperately trying to cover the wound until the latter called the ambulance like everything was completely fine. He sighs. What a lesson it was to not hide things from him.

 

“Oh, I am,” the man replies. “I assume I should send people over to the detective’s house so they can get rid of the evidences?”

 

The Irishman nods.

 

He can _feel_ the figure next to him smile and the green-haired man places an arm over his face, sighing. That smile is not the same. It is evil and he will spill words of venom instead of love. This man will take pleasure out of his pain and leave him to the hellhounds if he wishes. ░░░ grinds his teeth, for once hating what he did and wanting to fall apart, wanting to become dust. He shakes his head.

 

“Was it easy to kill me?” he whispers, thinking about his doppelganger.

 

“You mean Séan?” The tan man says smoothly. “Oh, yes. I didn’t play around like you did. I went straight for the kill because I knew where my real pet was.”

 

He touches the Irishman’s hair lightly, saying he can choose a new name after this and they can move on with their lives. The touch is a false sense of affection but ░░░ doesn’t move away, knowing it’ll be worse if he refuses the contact the man desires. He wants to feel the scar around his neck again but instead, he clenches his hands over his stomach.

 

“I hate you, Dark.”

  
The man in the suit chuckles deeply, sending shivers down his spine. The laugh is offensive and it makes him feel nauseous. They both know that despite his hate, he’ll remain by the man’s side. Like a bird trapped in a cage. The room is Illuminated only by the television’s static and the green-haired man can’t bring himself to sleep.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The green-haired man stares at the television that is finally working again. He watches the news, reporters announcing the disappearance of Mark Fischbach from the Police Department. Dark took care of what he had done perfectly well, so there are no bodies to be seen. The place where he killed the other officers is clean, and he knows he won’t be caught if he’s under Dark’s care. ░░░ touches the bags under his eyes, feeling tired.

 

He can hear the man in the suit faintly talking in his temporary office, dealing with a mediocre person that owns him money. The green-haired man smirks when Dark shouts and he can hear the guy begging for more time. He stops eavesdropping afterwards, knowing the brunet will not like that. ░░░ busies himself in the small kitchen, making some tea. He drinks it after adding three cups of sugar, hoping it’ll take the bitter taste off his mouth.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

The door to the office opens and he turns his head to see them. The guy’s eyes are puffy because of crying and his right cheek is bright red. Dark slapped him in the face. The brunet touches the buttons of his sleeves, adjusting them back in place. Dark sneers at the man’s state and orders him to leave. When they are alone, the brunet walks towards the television and hums after hearing the news. A filthy grin shows on his face and the green-haired man looks down at his tea, mind not quite present.

 

The Irishman frowns at the beverage. He wonders if this is what mourning feels life, even though he’s not suppose to mourn in any way. He sees the mug falling from his hand in slow motion. ░░░ listens it shatters on the floor and the rest of the tea splashes. It calls Dark’s attention and he can feel the man’s eyes burning on the back of his head. He purses his lips.

 

“You imbecile,” his deep voice reaches his ears. Dark walks towards him, whispering venom. “Clean this mess right now, unless you want a new scar on your goddamn face.”

 

He moves his head to look directly at the man, locking their cold eyes together. ░░░ has a deadpan expression that certainly infuriates Dark. He clicks his tongue after a moment, finally nodding and gathering the pieces of the broken mug. The devil speaks again, this time calmer, explaining he’d like to dismiss that client from before properly. Meaning he needs the Irishman to do the dirty job. He agrees, because he wants to get out of this weird trance and killing someone that he doesn’t have attachments will do the trick. He’ll feel more like himself again.

 

░░░ zips his black jacket while leaving the hotel in the middle of the night. The weight of his knife is welcome against his back once more and the bag in his hand has some other toys that will entertain him as well. He walks by the receptionist again and she doesn’t look up. Dark gave him the location of the house and that’s all the green-haired man needs.

 

He takes his time, driving slowly and parking a few blocks away. He climbs the small fence and finds the back door closed, so the Irishman has to climb the pipe of the house. He opens one of the windows from the second floor and he’s silent when he steps inside, adjusting the bag over his shoulder. The green-haired man traces his hand on the hallway, listening the man breathing in his sleep. ░░░ smiles when he walks in the bedroom, closing the door while he stares down at the man.

 

He leaves the bag next to the bed and he takes the knife in his hands. The green-haired man positions himself on top of the victim and he presses the weapon down to his throat. The blond man wakes up with a gasp, green eyes wide open in fright. He immediately starts shaking when he recognizes his murderer and ░░░ places his finger over his lips, shushing the man. He feels good telling the victim to shut up and follow his instructions.

 

The Irishman ties the man on the bed frame with a rope from the bag and he covers his mouth with duct tape. Once the guy is trapped, he gets up to turn on the radio he brought and enjoys the music. He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, knowing his heart is steady again and that he won’t lose control. He feels the beat of the song, letting his body move and hum along while the victim shakes like a leaf.

 

When he finally disconnects himself from his thoughts, he jumps on top of the blond man again and he starts cutting his left ear off. The crying man screams in a muffled sound and he squirms as much as he can. It makes the green-haired man laugh and he keeps torturing him. He breaks fingers and removes some nails off his body. ░░░ strangles him a couple of times, loosening the grip when he’s about to pass out just enough to start again. He makes the torture last painfully so, saying Dark sent his regards.

 

The green-haired man blinks slowly when the man dies, his hands falling to his side covered in blood. He looks at the moon from the outside of the window, the only spectator of his kills. He sighs, getting out of the bed and cleaning his weapons. This guy was not fun at all, he died too soon. But at least his job is done and Dark will be pleased. ░░░ wonders if the brunet’s eyes will ever show the same warmth he saw in Mark’s.

 

He wonders.

 

Going back, he finds himself thinking about his name. Dark said he’ll need a new one, now that their doppelgangers are gone from this world. It’s like being reborn. They are revenants, bathed in crimson. ░n░t░  thinks about Séan McLoughlin and how they were opposite from each other. Two sides of a coin. Black and white.

 

There’s a name in his mind when he arrives at the building, opening the hotel room once more like it’s his home. Dark is standing in front of the window, observing the moon. They don’t greet each other. The green-haired man leaves briefly to place the bag inside the closet and he washes his hands in the sink. The scar on his neck itches again, but ░n░t░ ignores it.

 

When he walks next to Dark, silence hovers over them like a blanket and he appreciates this small moment of peace between them.

 

“Anti,” he says. Dark narrows his eyes slightly to indicate that he’s listening to the man and he should continue. “My name is Anti.”

 

“Is that so?” Anti nods when he asks, a smile shows on Dark’s face. “Well then… Welcome to your new world, Anti. We will set it on fire.”

 

They stare down at the city from the window and he inflates his chest, feeling superior to those below. Anti imagines the buildings falling apart, destroying insignificant lives and flames take over the world. He clenches his hands, feeling powerful, and the mourning is gone from his heart. Dark senses that and he hums in pleasure. He finally moves to look at Anti, his dark eyes tracing his body up and down. He doesn’t need to say anything, Anti knows what is about to happen.

 

Dark praises him when he starts taking off his jacket and his belt. The devil presses him against the glass wall and he kisses Anti as hard as he can. It is not gentle, it is not sweet. The kiss Dark gives him is pure lust and the green-haired man groans when he bites on his lips. Anti gasps when the man strips him down, exposing his body and pressing his ass against the glass. He hugs Dark by his shoulders and locks his legs around the man’s waist.

 

The brunet licks the scar around his neck, making the latter moan, and he shoves two fingers inside Anti’s mouth without any warnings. The devil growls, urging the green-haired man to suck on his fingers. The Irishman accepts the rough treatment. He’s used to this, so he tries to keep his heart steady just like his kills. It still flutters and he chokes when Dark pushes his hand down to his throat before removing them. Anti squints his eyes in discomfort when Dark inserts them inside his asshole and he groans, tightening his grip on the man to keep him still.

 

Dark is shameless displaying him and Anti can’t help but moan when the devil curls his fingers inside him. The brunet doesn’t spend too much time preparing him, as always. So Anti takes a deep breath when Dark unzips his pants. It infuriates him that Dark remains in his clothes, but he’s not in the position to tease the man right now.

 

The Irishman gets turned around, face to the glass, and the tan man doesn’t waste time to pleasure himself. Anti chokes on his own saliva when Dark’s cock buries inside him. He remembers of Mark choking in that red barn. He squirms under the man’s tight embrace and after a threatening growl, he stops moving and lets it happen. They grunt in unison when Dark starts fucking him with all his strength, abusing his asshole. Their skin slap against each other, creating noises in the room and Anti moans.

 

Dark calls him a whore between his grunts and Anti opens his eyes to look down at the city once more, not feeling that power anymore. He remembers how Mark would touch him, kissing every spot he wanted with care. He throws his head back when Dark hits his prostate and his cock twitches, bringing him back to this reality. The heat below his stomach turns into a knot and he wants to feel good despite everything he’s ever done.

 

Hazel eyes flashes in his mind and he hisses when Dark presses his hands into his hips, sinking his nails to form new bruises. Anti scowls, hating himself for not forgetting the doppelganger. It’s like he’s a fresh wound in his dirty soul, haunting him wherever he goes. The scar on his neck seems to burn at this thought and Anti wants to lose himself. He bites his lips until they bleed and he shouts when the man keeps fucking him from behind.

 

“M-Mark...” he moans and immediately regrets opening his mouth when Dark stops moving.

 

His blood runs cold and his eyes lose focus, coming down fast from his ecstasy. Anti feels a sudden anxiety crawling under his skin and Dark is dead quiet. He flinches when the devil grabs him by the back of his head, pulling on his green hair and he hisses between his teeth.

 

“What did you say?” He pulls Anti’s hair, making him yell in pain. The tone of Dark’s voice sends shivers down his spine. “Your detective is fucking _dead._ The rest of his body was fed to the dogs. Burned dog meat. That’s what he is,” he growls. “I’m going to teach you a lesson. I’m all you have, you whore.”

 

Anti can feel tears streaming down his face and he’s angry at himself for feeling these emotions. He’s about to open his mouth to apologize, but Dark moves his grip on his head and bashes him against the glass. The Irishman shouts with the impact and he doesn’t have time to stop the devil. Dark bashes his head once more, cracking the window. Anti’s arms fall limply and he takes a last breath before losing conscious.

 

 

***

 

 

Anti groans and winces when he opens his eyes, only to see the sunlight on his face. His whole body feels sore and he has a massive headache. The green-haired man blinks a couple of times, adjusting his eyes to the light and he finally gathers enough strength to move. He’s lying down in the living room, completely naked and alone. His head swims when he starts getting up, so he waits a little more. The glass of the window is cracked and Anti scowls, noticing the dry blood on it.

 

He touches his forehead and winces again, realizing his eyebrow was cut when Dark bashed his head. The Irishman digs his nails into his palms when he notices something else, new tears burning in his eyes. Dark still managed to come inside him when he was unconscious. Anti wants to scream. He recomposes himself, finally getting up and stumbling on the way to the bathroom. When he turns on the lights, he feels utterly disgusted by his imagine in the mirror.

 

There are bruises all over his pale body. Dark left a bite mark on his shoulder and there are hands printed on his skin. He scans himself up and down, observing all the scars he got in his life with that man. He winces, feeling dry cum inside him, and he limps his way towards the shower. Anti still feels filthy under the cold water and he rubs his skin until it becomes red. He cleans the cut on his forehead and leaves it alone, not giving a fuck if the cut is exposed.

 

Anti stays in the hotel room, lying in bed and staring at the white ceiling. The windows are closed, so he doesn’t know the hours of the day. He doesn’t care. The green-haired man remains in the room, barely blinking and letting the void devour him. He thinks he hears Mark’s bubbly laugh at one point and he feels like dying. Still, he doesn’t move at all. He’s waiting for Dark to come back. There’ll always be a part of him that will wait for that man.

 

He feels tears falling from his eyes again and this time he doesn’t bother to stop them. Anti lets himself cry quietly and he swallows when his throat starts closing. He keeps the screams inside. He keeps every trace of anger buried for later, for another kill. Anti doesn’t know how long he stays in this half-conscious state, but the front door opening brings him back to this world. He listens to Dark’s footsteps and waits for him to come.

 

The bedroom door creaks and the man in the suit stands next to his frame, looking down at him.

 

“Feeling better?” he asks, pretending to care. Anti nods. “Good. I brought you something to cheer you up.”

 

Anti moves his eyes to stare at him, seeing he’s holding a black bag with no brand. The green-haired man sits up, leaving room for the man to sit on the bed and accept the present. Anti carefully takes a rectangular box from the bag and he removes the red wrapping paper around it. He finds it heavy and he unlocks the box, only to see a beautiful collection of daggers. Anti’s eyes shine and he holds one to see how it feels in his hands.

 

Dark hums, knowing he pleased his pet. “These were personally requested by me. Straight from Arizona. Handmade. Pure silver. I thought you’d like a new toy.”

 

Anti presses the tip of the dagger against his thumb, beaming when a fine line of blood streams down his finger.

 

“Thank you,” the Irishman says.

 

The devil smiles.

 

 

***

 

 

Dark brings him to a warehouse where a meeting will happen regarding weapon supplies and bribery. Anti doesn’t ask for details. He’s just there because the brunet requested and when the other group arrives, Anti’s glad that he came. Because something feels off. The thugs behind their leader are sweating and one of them can’t stop fidgeting with their hands. Dark also notices the shift in the air and he sends a sign to his guards to stand closer. Anti narrows his eyes.

 

The leader picks up on Anti, calling him names that only Dark should. The devil sneers and shows his possessive nature soon after, threatening the man. The green-haired man smirks. The meeting starts heating up and going downhill when the leader demands a bigger part of the deal and more territory. Dark snaps his own neck, losing patience. Anti huffs, tired of seeing people complain about the same things over and over. Dark will never do what they want.

 

However, his annoyance is replaced by fright soon after. One of the guys pulls out a gun as a threat and Dark’s watchmen shoot him dead immediately. When the man hits the ground, a chain of chaos begins and guns are fired in the warehouse. Anti shoots his daggers straight to their throats and hearts. The leader catches his attention because he aims a gun directly at Dark and Anti screams in anger.

 

The green-haired man runs towards him, hearing a shot too close for his liking. He sinks his dagger into the man’s chest, grinding his teeth and taking the gun to shoot at the leader’s face several times. The clicking sound of the gun tells him that there are no more bullets and Mark holding the shotgun appears in his mind like a goddamn ghost. He drops the weapon and frowns when everything is quiet. The guards took care of the rest and Dark is looking at him with wide eyes.

 

It makes him scowl. The devil never looks at him like that.

 

He touches his stomach, feeling a horrible burning pain that takes air off his lungs. He gasps, realizing he’s bleeding and his hands are shaking. He’s never been shot before. Dark made sure that he’ll be cut open, burned by tip of cigarettes, strangled, beaten. But not shot. He falls on his knees, holding himself and he groans. Dark is by his side and he’s shouting at the guards.

 

“Get the fucking car! Fucking _move!_ We need to go to a doctor!”

 

The devil’s screams echo in the warehouse and Anti focus on breathing. He lies down on the dirty floor and he lets out another groan. Dark is saying something to him, but he can’t quite pay attention to it. His heart hurts against his ribcage for beating too fast and he’s losing a lot blood. Anti curses out loud and Dark puffs in annoyance, carrying him in his arms.

 

“What are you doing?” Anti whispers in the crook of his neck.

 

“What the fuck you think I’m doing?!” Dark snarls and the green-haired man laughs when they enter the car.

 

He rests his head on Dark’s lap and he watches the lights from the city pass by the window. His vision swims and he’s aware that his blood is all over the car’s backseat. The driver is fast and Dark shouts for him to hurry up. Anti chuckles, dragging one hand over his face. Thin sprinkles of blood on Mark’s face.

 

“Why are you laughing?! What you did back there was foolish.”

 

Indeed. He is a fool for Dark. Anti hisses because he’s moving too much, but he still continues to laugh like a maniac.

 

“Y-You…” he shakily says. “You c-care about me.”

 

Dark makes a disgusted face.

 

“You’re in shock.”

 

The green-haired man yells in pain when the car turns too fast into a street and Dark complains to the driver, threatening to kill his family. Anti has a stupid smile on his face and he feels cold, tired. He needs to sleep.

 

Mark.

 

“Dark.” He waits for the devil to look down at him. “I’m all you have, aren’t I…?”

 

The brunet sighs, patting his hair. Anti knows Dark will take care of him and that he won’t die because of a single bullet. Dark will make sure that his death is much worse than this and it’ll be by his hands. Despite the horrible pain he’s in right now, this will be just a new scar. So the Irishman takes a deep breath, watching the world become a blur because of the speed that they are going. His blue eyes loses focus after a while, like that static television in that goddamn room, and he takes this moment to mumble incoherently thoughts.

 

“I love you, Dark.”

 

The man in the suit doesn’t reply.

 

Anti doesn’t expect one.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really excited to post this other chapter! I hope you guys liked it and sorry if there are any mistakes haha! Thanks for reading it! ♥
> 
>  
> 
> [Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPxxqqsDPWc)  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Any questions, hmu. I wanted to be subtle regarding their past, so I'll understand if there's any doubt. This was fun! :)


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